When The Night Falls In
by Unoriginality
Summary: <html><head></head>Al cannot feel his brother anymore.</html>


_Well L.A is getting kinda crazy_

_And New York is getting kinda cold_

_I keep my head from getting lazy_

_I just can't wait to get back home_

-"Landing in London"; Three Doors Down

They think he's in shock still, he knows this. It's not unreasonable, really; his soul was reattached to its body after years of being bound to a foreign object. Of course it's only logical. He lets them think that. It's easier for them to deal with him when they think he doesn't understand.

His brother is gone.

It haunts his dreams at night, curled up in his bed and clutching tightly to the only thing of Ed that he still has, a red coat that became hope made tangible for him, his brother's promise, his love and protection all wrapped up in that red garment with the black cross on the back. He's aware of it every day, of the silence where Ed should be.

Winry's quiet, solemn and somehow grown up all wrong with the absence of their loved one, the big brother that watched out for both of them. Rosè takes blame, for not stopping him, for not forcing him to leave that place with her, and she prays in whispers at night for his return. They mourn where they think he can't see, beg the missing Elric to come back when his back is turned, and try to convince him to his face that Edward is dead.

Alphonse is left to grieve alone.

He leaves at night, while they sleep, walks the familiar path from the Rockbell home to the remains of his own. There's a promise there, that he's trying to find, still buried amongst the ash and debris. He counts his steps, from the front door to the hall, down to the study. Ten steps to his right, and he stops, an icy lump forming in his stomach.

It's cold, and Al shivers a bit, slips on his brother's coat and crouches down, touching the ground where he thinks he remembers seeing his brother, bleeding and apologizing for only being able to save his soul and not his body. Desperately, he wishes he could find his brother there again, mumbling his apologies- always apologizing, when it'd been Al's fault, _his_ failure to protect his brother from their own foolish whims and desires.

He doesn't feel safe here.

Tugging the hood up, he chews his lip, biting back a sob that's threatening to escape, to break the silence around him. It's not safe anywhere anymore, not without his brother, his light and protection. He feels vulnerable, and all he can do is huddle down as much as he can under the warmth of the coat, clinging to broken promises and scraps of memory that nobody but him knows he even still has.

There's footsteps off to the side and he jumps, gets to his feet and turns, a foolish hope in the back of his mind that it's his brother, chasing after him just like when they'd fight and Alphonse would run off to the river. He's calling to his brother before he even sees who's there.

Winry wraps her arms around herself, shaking her head and watching Al with a distant expression in her eyes. "You look like him," she tells him quietly, holding her robe closed tightly against the chilly air.

A bitter smile crosses his lips. "No more than a star looks like the sun," he answers with a shake of his head, turning away from her and looking down around the remains of his life.

A moment passes before she speaks again. "You remember?" Wordlessly, he nods. "Why didn't you tell us?"

He lifts his head again to look at her. "You never let me."

Guiltily, she winces and purses her lips tightly. The breeze ruffles her hair and she shivers, pressing her arms against herself tighter. "Can you feel him?"

Feel him? Alphonse closes his eyes. No, there's nothing there, that absence of breath in his soul is silent and hollow. He's tried, reached for that connection, that contact that quieted his mind at night when he wanted to sleep and couldn't, that _safety_ knowing that his big brother was there, and would protect him as he always had. But all he finds is silence.

Winry muffles a whimper against her sleeve, and steps over to him, bits of burned wood cracking under her feet, and Alphonse dimly notices that there's no warmth even when she wraps her arms around his neck and clings, trembling- probably more from the effort to not cry than the cool night air.

"'s cold," she whispers, and Alphonse releases an unsteady breath, holding her tightly.

Of course it's cold. Their sun has gone out.

Edward is gone.

_And when the night falls in around me_

_I don't think I'll make it through_

_I'll use your light to guide the way_

_'Cause all I think about is you_


End file.
